Mage in Motion

Walid had never been a fan of the ‘sweet science’, but after a hike in the woods on the other side of Highway 101, a visit through John’s Beachcombing Museum, a Twilight Tour, and supper at Sully’s Burgers, he ended up at the high school. He got one of the last parking spots and went inside. The gymnasium had been outfitted with a boxing ring, multiple banners, lights, and many more cameras than Walid had expected. ESPN was there, as were crews from local channels. This was a bigger event than even Jim had predicted and when he waved to Walid, there was barely room for the two men in the bleachers. Just about every one of the 3,832 people living in Forks seemed to have crowded into the space. Walid thought it was a very good idea that Brad and Jim had paid for magical security since the town outside the gym had to be mostly unguarded right now. “Boxing, it is popular here?” “Not really, but that there is Liam ‘The Lightning’ Healy, middleweight champion.” He pointed out a banner bearing the photo of a remarkably handsome redhead who didn’t seem to bear any of the common boxer’s disfigurements such as cauliflower ears or a smashed-up nose. “I do not know him.” “Quick fucker and filthy rich. This is his tour, promotin’ boxing all around the country. He’s got a team of young guys he travels with, couple girls too, and they do matches with local boxers to build them up and encourage others. They make donations to local sports programs, so Forks is gonna rake in good money from this. Healy’s fight is the last of the night, of course.” “I see.” Jim leaned in close even though the noise around them made eavesdropping difficult. “He’s queer, but I sure as hell wouldn’t wanna face him in the ring!” He guffawed and jostled Walid. The show was late. Lots of cameramen and reporters scrambled around. The big screen that showed Healy and his opponent of the evening, one ‘Fast’ Federico Suárez, went blank and then made a small font announcement: “Would any magic users please come backstage at this time.” “Hey!” Jim said. “That’s you!” Walid wasn’t at all sure he wanted to volunteer, but Jim jumped up, signaled a referee, and pointed at him. “Hey! Over here! He’s a mage! Over here!” He pushed Walid off the end of the bleacher and then several men gathered around to escort him into the locker room. Questions came from all sides. “You for real?” “Done a fight before?” “Got any references?” “How much you charge?” There were doctors, reporters, coaches, assistants, referees, and men who were probably representatives of one boxing association or another. Walid gave his name, scanned and signed a contract, then picked up the hundred bucks he was getting paid. “Just a simple reveal spell or whatever,” some burly man with a towel around his neck was saying to him, “Just to show we’re all on the up and up. You can do that, right?” Walid nodded. He’d seen such spells at sporting events before. Like drug tests, sex verifications, and weigh ins, they were meant to show that none of the competitors had an unfair advantage. Hidden luck charms were the usual culprit, but sometimes a football or soccer player had been seen by a shaman and gotten a blessing or a gymnast had received a leprechaun’s visit. Maybe a javelin thrower had kissed an enchanted frog. All those things could be revealed by a skilled magic user. The trick was to make sure not too much was revealed, like a person’s thoughts or childhood traumas, and that only the person being examined felt the effect of the spell. Bystanders didn’t take kindly to any ‘overspill’. Sometimes they sued. As headlining act and tour promoter, Liam ‘The Lightning’ Healy led the way. ‘Fast Federico’ joined him. They faced the cameras that Walid had his back to. He rubbed his hands together, took a moment to collect his thoughts, mumbled some magic language mixed with French and Arabic, then said ‘Reveal’ aloud and cast the spell from his hands into the two men’s faces. There was a bluish-white light haloing Suárez, but the light around Healy blinked bright red. It contained an image anybody in the room or watching on television would recognize as one of the many supernatural creatures inhabiting the world. “¡Oye!” Suárez pointed one glove at the red light and yelled into the stunned silence of the entire locker room, “He’s a motherfuckin’ TROLL!”